


wait four years and then...

by mumblingmaria



Category: Morning Glories
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblingmaria/pseuds/mumblingmaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and so they waited until the chance may have passed them, one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wait four years and then...

**Author's Note:**

> lethobenthos n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person, making you wish your day would begin with a “previously on” recap of your life’s various plot arcs, and end with “to be continued…” after those will-they-won’t-they cliffhanger episodes that air just before the show goes back into months of repeats.

_her_

You stir your iced coffee and glance at your watch. You aren't surprised in the slightest that it has been ten minutes since the agreed meeting time. You knew it was going to end up this way, you knew you could have avoided this (but out of a long forgotten habit you arrived five minutes early to meeting him). You sip your coffee and continue to wait. 

You know on the outside you look fair calm and collected. Every now and then you wave your hand at yourself to cool down (whoever said Canada was cold obviously spent no time in it during the summer) and you occasionally glance around the patio of the cafe. You feel out of place: your skirt feels too long and your palms are sweating and you know your heart hasn't raced like this in almost four years. Apart of you is saying that this would be the one time in your life to flee.

But you stay in the chair, mostly because you can't remember how you move your legs. You trying to fix your skirt and you feel your hair to make sure it's still perfectly in its ponytail. You check your watch again and glance around. If he could just show up to get the waiting over…

You remember the breeze that had wrapped itself around you and the apple tree you sat at all those years ago. You remember how long a wait that was. You remember all the waits after that. You remember the fact that you actually did _wait_. Every time you waited, and eventually, every time he showed up (even if it was the next day with the most outlandish reasons for making you wait).

You remember the one time you made him wait. Or rather, you remember that he's still waiting (or you hope he is). You remember what it was like to have your heart flutter because of how he looked at you only to feel it drop because you returned it. The hope that something between you could happen only to always be reminded that there was not chance because the future always seemed to be ending the next day.

You look up from your drink and your stomach drops further than you knew possible. You see his orange hair first. It's short now, a cleaner cut, but you know it belongs to him. Soon you see those green eyes that always reminded you of better days and his nose that he always muttered about when the two of you got closer than you had intended. You see that he's in a dress shirt and you immediately miss the silly shirts he wore that you never understood. You see that he's trying to catch his breath as he looks around for you and you smile slightly. You realize suddenly how much you missed _him_.

You keep staring at him, making no attempt to move or call him. You just sit and watch him, wondering if more than his appearance had changed in four years. Four years without contact. Four years of forgetting each other. Four years of freedom.

He catches your eyes finally and you feel like you're going to throw up. He doesn't smile. He doesn't frown. He just stares back from the entrance to the patio and for the first time in your life you wish you could be invisible. Or that you could hit up on that time travel again.

He's in front of you now and you look up at him.

"Hi… Hunter."

_him_

You wonder how much she's changed. You know you have some, maybe not as much as you would have liked, but you have. More than just a haircut and nice clothes, but you do feel like the last four years have changed you. But have they made you braver? Well your hands are sweating profusely and you're trying to remember if you put deodorant on this morning. Did you brush your teeth before you left? 

You walk up the stairs from the subway exit, blinking slightly in the sunlight. You frown, regretting your choice of shirt. A long sleeve in this weather? Maybe you haven't changed as much as you thought. You begin to roll up the sleeves as you look around to get your bearings. You find the street sign you want and glance at your watch.

"Fuck…" you mutter as you break into a run.

Yeah, you haven't changed that much.

But her… You remember how strong she was back then. How strong she was to and through the end of your time there. How she always had a plan (of a sort at least). You remember the strength she gave you to keep fighting. To keep living. To survive to the next day, month, year. For four years she gave you strength even if you hadn't spoken to her in that time. 

You remember all the times you let her down. It painful to remember, but a part of you is a bit shocked you had forgotten (another is not surprised at all). You remember every time you made her wait and manage to laugh at the fact you've made her wait once more, how easy was it for you to fall into old habits. You remember that you tried probably more than you should have but even though you think it was all worth it. The hell you went through, it was worth it. If only for this moment.

You get to the cafe, out of breath and more sweaty than before, and you look around. You begin to catch your breath as you look around the patio. You don't remember what she said she would be wearing. You don't remember if she said she did want to sit outside or not. You don't remember if this is even the right place. But none of that matters because you begin to worry about what you do remember. Is her hair as bright and flowing as you remember? Are her eyes as blue as the sky or did you just see it that way? Does she actually might her lip when she's making a hard decision or did you imagine that in the library once? Did your heart even stop when you were near her?

Then green meets blue and you forget how to function. Should you smile? Frown? Run in the opposite direction?

Instead you find yourself making your way to her table. It takes you much longer to get there than it should (or at least it feels that way). You're standing in front of her before you can tell your fight to stop. You still don't understand how time works around this girl.

"Hi… Hunter," her voice comes out and forces you to focus, just like it always did. Her words force you to finally thing again. Her words force you to remember just how much you missed _her_. 

You finally smile at her and take the seat across the table.

"Hi."

_them_

It is clear by the state of his apparent he had not been planning for this to take place. It's not like the place is unliveable, he just would have liked to have put all his comics and DVDs away and maybe not have his laundry (dirty and clean) laying all around his bedroom floor. He had thought that they would just have coffee, have the awkward 'what have you been up to these past four years' conversation, that maybe if he was lucky coffee would turn into dinner, and the day would end with them parting ways on the subway to most likely never see each other again. This was definitely not what he thought was going to happen.

She didn't plan this either. She was on the same original page as him. She wanted to get this day over and done with, little chance of there being a tomorrow for them, for any of them, together. She wanted to put the past in the past and to finally move forward. That was what this trip was about, moving forward. No more reliving the past. No more trying to piece everything together to figure out what had actually happened. No more trying to make sense of hell. It was time to move on.

But the heat moving between them clearly thought otherwise. Their lips are crashing together, both holding there other terrified of letting go. Letting go was something they had done before and it was not a welcomed experience to repeat. Neither is sure of who started this and neither knows if one of them will end it. They aren't looking to the past or future. For the first time in their lives they both feel what living in the present actually feels like. 

They had finished their coffees and were sitting at the table in a deafening silence. They had the conversation that normal people had after being parted for years and soon ran out of things to talk about. Neither had attempted to discuss their shared past, and they both had tiptoed around the 'relationship' topic. They sat, staring at different locations, both waiting for the other to take the next step.

"I was-"

"Uh, have you-"

They both grinned cautiously. She gestured for him to go first, and with a deep breath he did.

"Have you…" he started again, his hand on his neck (a habit she was glad to see he had kept) and avoided her gaze, "Have you been seeing anyone lately?"

The blonde had swallowed and shook her head. "Have you?"

"No… No," he had answered. "I mean, obviously I could have. Obviously… But I just… Well, you know it's hard. It's hard to-"

"It's hard to find someone who will understand," she had finished for him. 

They go the his bedroom almost immediately, barely stopping when he mutters 'shoes' when they first entered the apartment. They don't pull apart to breathe as much at they should but doesn't phase either body. They cling to each other as desperately as they can, each one trying to convey the regret of only now giving in but the ecstasy of finally doing so. She pulls away finally, but only to start making work at the buttons of his shirt. His lips find her neck as his hand begin to pull on her shirt, freeing it from being tucked into her skirt. She discards his shirt before moving her lips back to his, her fingers getting caught in his hair. 

He starts to pull her shirt up, having to break contact briefly to get it over her head. When they captured each others lips again, he began to take steps towards the bed, her feet taking confident steps back. They unceremoniously fall onto the mattress and let their hands roam freely over the other's torso. His hands dart over her bra nervously, so she reaches behind to unclasp it, tossing the garment aside. 

"So…" she had said, as they stood on the subway platform. She was supposed to head on the southbound train, back to her hotel. He was to head north and out of her life, returning to his own. "I guess this-"

"You could come to my place," he had sputtered out quickly. "I mean… You don't head back to Chicago tomorrow, so you don't need to worry about staying up late. You could come over, watch a movie, a drink or something… If you wanted to, that is."

She had given him a look over before having stepped towards him, placing a kiss quickly on his lips. "Okay…" she had whispered.

She gasps as he moves back up her body, taking his time as he moves his lips across her. They both are trying to grab hold of whatever they can, trying not to let go of this moment they finally reached. Their clothes have been tossed haphazardly around the room. When he reaches her face again, she pulls him back, smashing her lips against his. 

They're both ready and he enters her. They both let out a breath neither knew they were holding. They stare into the other's eyes, realizing just how well the pairs fit together. Soon they're moving together, trying to find the rhythm they never gave a chance when they were younger. When they were scared. When they were trapped. Now they're free and alive and willing. They find the other in themselves, consuming their mind and body completely. This is what they had ignored. This is what they will never ignore again. This is what they will never forget. 

Finally, the world can no longer harm _them_.

_her… again_

You wake up first. Or at least, you think you wake up first. You refuse to open your eyes. You don't want to face the morning quite yet. You don't want to think about the future. You just want to lie here next to him.

But mostly you just don't want to wake up to see the last four years had never happened. That you dreamed it all up. That you had to imagine a future with him to forget the present where you lost him. You don't want to wake up alone. Not again. Not for more times to come. Not like you have before. You want to reach out to him, run your fingers through his hair, pull yourself close. You don't want to open your eyes. You don't want to see what will be there when you do.

You lay as still as you can. You're sure that one movement will assure what present you be facing. You can't remember anymore. You've lived so many forgotten lives at this point that either is a genuine possibility. It's 50/50 at this point and you aren't ready to toss the coin. You don't want to take a gamble for the first time in your life. You don't want to gamble away your last chance at happiness. You don't want to gamble another person, losing them to the darkness forever. You don't want to game him. You don't want to gamble your 'us'.

You open up your eyes to

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the latest of the mg ficathon's that the lovely brella graciously hosts.


End file.
